


Just Desserts

by frodleikr



Series: Just Desserts [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:12:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frodleikr/pseuds/frodleikr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm not saying a lot about this story in these summaries other than Dean and Sam won't be turning up till chapter one, only Castiel and my OC are making an appearance in this prologue. Enjoy! :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Desserts

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first time I've published this prologue on this website and I'm hoping it's liked. I owe a lot to my Beta Melanie Baker, who was absolutely brilliant with helping bulk out ideas, and for reading through and helping edit the drafts.  
> I'm not saying a lot about this story in these summaries other than Dean and Sam won't be turning up till chapter one, only Castiel and my OC are making an appearance in this prologue. Enjoy! :D

Prologue

Steel grey and threatening to burst with the first major rain this year, a winter sky waited until, huddled in a luminescent rain coat I leapt off the back of the still moving Tram and dashed for the dinner across the street. An ominous roll of angry thunder sounded above me and the first drops of rain descended just as I made it into the diner. 'Pressley's Dinner' was a gaudy, disgustingly Elvis themed place run by a grossly overweight man in a tattered but still sparkly white one piece, complete with a ketchup smeared manager's tag. Despite it all being 'red, white and rock all over' the coffee at this place was good and just what I needed. Choosing a window booth and calling out to 'Elvis' for a cappuccino, I looked up at the wide screen TV. It was playing one of those old time zombie movies, one where the make up was crappy and peeling and the screams so overdone it was funny, it was those types of Zombie movies that I had fallen in love with.

My smile quickly turned to a frown as one of the kids behind the bar reached up and switched channels. "Hey!" He turned to glare "You ever thought that some of us may be watching that?"  
"Yeah. old movies are shit, zombies don't exist, get over it."  
"Who the hell do you think you are?" I seethed, the guy smirked, and in contempt I crinkled my nose and internally wondered how he would feel should a horde of stinking rotting zombies started chasing after him, intent on ripping apart his skull and chewing through what little brains he had.   
A few minutes of frowning moodily out of the window and watching the trench-coated man stand in an alleyway across the road, I heard the Zombie-Hater call out for a cigarette break. Ugh... he smoked. Disgusting. I frowned, turned back to the raindrops and the trench-coated man who was now making his way across the road. From here I could see his dark hair dripping as he stepped through the Dinner door. His eyes were brilliant blue and without a glance in my direction - as if he were trying to avoid me - he took a seat at the bar, not ordering anything just sitting, staring at the dark TV screen. Shrugging, I once again turned back to my raindrops. Behind me I could hear 'Elvis' grumbling to himself, "Where the hell is Dylan?" He barked at a passing waitress, "These dishes ain't gonna wash themselves." I frowned, realising that this Dylan guy must be the bratty teen that had zombie issues. Well it wasn't my business if he wanted to catch pneumonia just for a stinking cigarette, I thought to myself before talking a long sip of coffee out of the chipped red mug in my hands.   
A few minutes passed, and still no return of smoking Zombie-Hater. Surely he should be back by now. Rubbing my head, I tried to think around my headache, spidey senses quivering as a chorus of screams rose above the slowly escalating collection of moans and wails. Moans? Wails? Screams? I glanced back up at the TV screen, nope still switched off. Without thinking I pulled my standard issue Sig Suer from it's holster, and moved to the door, propping it open with my elbow. A year and a half of working as a Private Investigator had made me ready for almost anything. "Everybody stay here." I ordered. After a minute of squinting through the heavy rain, I almost reeled back in horror as the stench of rotting flesh rolled down the street. Instincts screamed and I backed away, closed the door and braced it with a chair and crouched.

"Ella?" a young woman, who held a squalling three year old in her arms, asked. "What's going on?" I turned and made eye contact. I recognised her as Kandie, a girl I'd gone to school with. She stood only slightly behind where the trench coated man had sat.

"I'm not sure, Kandie, really I'm not sure." I turned back to the window. "Holy shit!" My eyes widened, and I fell from my crouch, bumping my tailbone against the floor as the smoker fled passed, screaming at the top of his lungs. Close behind him, a hoard of Zombies, flesh melting off their face and broken bones protruding. The zombies were rambling at such a pace, and a few meters behind, slower, more decomposed walking dead. No. freaking. Way. "Zombies?"

Well... that's just deserts.


End file.
